Gloria was the one who taught us all we knew about death, the afterlife, calling on ghosts. She showed us how to perform seances and levitations and she was a master at the Ouija board. I played along with all these things because I didn’t want to be left out, but my skepticism — even at 12 years old — kept me from believing what my friends fell for. I knew Gloria was guiding the planchette over the Ouija board, making it answer questions there were really no answers for. I knew the seances were frauds, that Lori’s grandpa and Ben Franklin were not visiting us from beyond. But I enjoyed partaking in them, even if I didn’t believe.

Even as I devoured ghost stories and books about otherworldly beings, I refused to believe any of it could be true. They made for good stories, and that was it. I believed — and still believe — that when you die, you die and nothing else happens. You don’t survive as a ghost. You don’t manifest to avenge your death or take care of unfinished business so you can rest in peace or haunt those who wronged you in life.

I just don’t believe in ghosts. Sure, they make for good stories, but my mind will not process the idea of spirits of long dead people hovering around us, interfering in our lives, hassling us, hitching rides from unsuspecting strangers.

There’s a whole industry based on the afterlife and ghosts and the paranormal. People who speak to the dead, who measure your house for ghostly…